The Puppet on the Wall
by Telentropy X
Summary: The nighttime security guard at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza stumbles upon a child's murder and is attacked as well. Afterward, he returns to the restaurant to gain a sense of closure and realizes that something far more sinister has taken hold of him.
1. Chapter 1

I like the smell of pizza but after smelling it for eight hours straight, I'd rather smell anything for a few minutes. Heck, I'd take ruined can of sardines just to give my sinuses something else to think about for a while. Six o'clock comes early and eight o'clock doesn't come early enough. Life as a security guard isn't hard but it is a boring existence. The kids make it better. A lot of them think I'm a police officer. At least they do at first. When I explain what a security guard does, I kind of become a downgraded version of a cop. But I can't really complain.

Usually there is only one of us working at a time, but today the restaurant had so many birthday parties booked, the boss decided that it was necessary to call me in on my day off so I could back up William. So, I'm monitoring cameras while he's dressed up in the yellow Bonnie suit and playacting for the kids.

Lucky.

Speaking of which, he was supposed to give me break five minutes ago since some of the families have cleared out.

"Whoo! That suit doesn't get any better, let me tell you!" William walks into the office with his hair plastered to his forehead. "I'll take over for a while, Matt."

"Thanks," I say sarcastically.

He has the grace to look apologetic. "Sorry, I know you're past due."

"Yeah, my bladder said that thirty minutes ago," I tell him as I head for the bathroom.

Yeah, that almost got super awkward.

I decide to take advantage of my break and walk around the restaurant. The parents greet me and the kids mostly ignore me. As I stroll through the rooms I glance over everything. I do not like these animatronics. They're freaking creepy. Whoever decided these things were good for entertaining kids needs to have his head examined.

I walk into the prize room and see some of the kids gawking at the plush toys and more than one is pointing at the puppet hanging on the wall. I don't know where the boss found that thing, but I think it's the coolest item in the place.

"What's that one for?" a boy in a red striped shirt asks pointing at the marionette.

I cock my head to one side to study the puppet for a second. This kid knows all the animatronics have jobs whether it's singing or serving food so I have to give him a job for the puppet.

"He protects theses little guys," I tell him, gesturing to all the plushies. "Makes sure nothing happens to them."

He nods and wanders off, apparently satisfied with my answer. I make my way back to the office and walk in to see William staring at the screen and punching buttons.

"Have the cameras been messing up the whole time?" he asks.

"Messing up how?" I ask.

"Glitching out," he says.

"I haven't had any problems," I tell him.

"They did this the other day," he says and stands up to go. "Maybe it'll fix itself again. Well, back in the suit I go."

"Enjoy," I tell him and sit down in the chair.

Thirty minutes before closing, the boss sticks his head in the doorway.

"Can I get you to stay for another couple of hours?" he asks.

"Where's William?" I ask without bothering to hide my aggravation.

"He had to leave. Said something urgent came up."

I sigh. "I'll stay."

"Good. See you tomorrow," he says and vanishes.

Sometimes I hate this job.

When everybody's gone and the place is locked down for the night, I do quick patrols of the halls. Habit I guess. This isn't my first job as security. At fifteen to twelve, I decide to do one last round before the next shift arrives. I can't control what happens when I leave but at least everything will be set when I go. Everything's quiet until I get close to the prize room and I hear something like heavy breathing. I shift my grip on my flashlight so that it doubles as a club. I'm supposed to be the only person here until midnight.

I step into the room and my pulse accelerates until I hear the blood rushing in my ears. In the dark recesses of the room, a shadowy figure is bent double, something is pounding on the floor and I catch a glimpse of a red striped shirt in my light. I can't see his face but I slam into the guy hard enough to break bones, either his or mine.

I still can't see his face.

He's stiff, stunned from the hit and I glance down. I see the red striped shirt but there is more red than stripes now and my insides go numb.

"You sick son of a-!"

He punches me in the face and once in the stomach and I stagger. That. Punch. Felt. Weird. He grabs my jacket and slings me into the wall where I smash into the puppet. He's on me before I can recover and hits me in the side. I suddenly feel so weak, my knees won't hold me up anymore but the kid is right there. And. He. Might. Be. Alive.

I lunge for the guy one more time but there's no strength in my legs and he punches me in the chest. I hit the floor on my back and I can't get up. I can't even breathe. I can hear my pulse through my ears but it sounds off—like there's an extra, weaker beat. My flashlight's on the floor, illuminating the blood all over the tiles, the wall, that striped shirt. But not him. I fight to stay awake. The room is getting darker and I hope that's the flashlight dying. He starts dragging the kid out of the room and I catch a glimpse of him. The boy was past saving before I ever walked into the room. The last thing I see before the room goes black is the scattered pieces of the shattered puppet.

There to protect the little guys. Just not that little guy.

That was my job.


	2. Chapter 2

I hear beeping. My head is in a vice as I try to wake up but it's so hard. Like forcing yourself to wake up from a bad dream. I manage to slit my eyes open and I can barely make out a man in a lab coat standing beside me. Am I in bed?

"Nurse Hale, I need you in Room 302, stat," he says into the intercom and bends over to stare me in the face. "Can you hear me?"

I try to nod but the only thing that happens is a spasmodic jerk.

"Take it easy, son," he says and starts shining a pen light in my eyes. "Can you tell me your name?"

My tongue feels swollen and dry as cotton. "Matt-Mathew Walker." I don't know if my words are actually as slurred as they sound or if the buzzing in my head is just distorting them.

"You're lucky to be alive, Mr. Walker," he tells me.

No crap.

I need to know about the kid.

"…kid..," I only manage that one word this time. What I'd give for some water.

His expression was serious before. Now it's dismal.

"Detective," he says, turning to the door.

Another man walks in and flashes his badge at me. "Detective Anders. Glad to see you awake, Mr. Walker."

"The…kid…" I try again.

He hesitates. "We're looking for him."

"He's dead," my words are flat, like I don't feel anything about what happened that night.

"You know that for sure?" he asks.

I actually manage a nod this time.

"Can you tell us who did it?"

"Excuse me? Just what do you think you're doing?" a woman's voice demands. That voice has made me cringe many times in my life. I'm glad someone else is suffering this time.

"I'm sorry, miss…?"

"Walker. Stella Walker, Detective," I watch her spin around on the doctor next. "I was supposed to be notified the minute he woke up. Not the police. Me." Back to the detective. "Your questions can wait until he can at least speak coherently." She points to the door and after a moment, he leaves. When she finally looks at me, her temper vanishes and she becomes the warm and concerned big sister. "How are you feeling, Matt?"

I'll never cease to be amazed at how quickly she transitions between aggressive protector and loving sibling. I don't even get to answer because she puts a cup of water to my mouth and insists I drink it all.

"Like I've been run over," I tell her and I'm startled at how raspy my voice sounds. "My chest hurts."

"You were stabbed three times with a ten inch blade. You've spent the last forty-eight hours in a comatose state," the doctor tells me.

That explains why those punches felt weird.

One of those went through my heart, though.

"How am I alive?" I dare to ask.

"The night shift guard arrived in time to see you bleeding out," he says. "He called 911 and the paramedics spent ninety percent of the ride trying to keep you among the living."

"Did he see anybody else?" I ask. I'll never forget that shadow. Or the fact I never saw his face.

"Do you feel up to talking to the police?" Stella asks me.

I nod.

The detective walks in immediately. Probably waiting right outside the door.

"Don't push him too hard, Detective," the doctor tells him. "He flat-lined ten times in surgery and I don't want him stressed."

 _What?!_

"You wanna run that by me again?" I ask.

"I'll be as brief as I can," Anders promises, resolutely ignoring my sister's steely look. "Were you able to identify the perp?"

I don't hear the question. Those moments are playing through my mind and it's all I can see. The red-striped shirt. The shadow. I never even saw he had a knife. The broken puppet—

 _I died!_

"Matt?"

I blink and see my sister staring at me. She's always had a tough, can-handle-anything attitude whenever one of us was in a serious situation but the fact that her expression is nothing but unguarded concern just makes this worse.

"Sorry, I'm a little hung up on the fact that I died ten times," I say, trying to ignore the scenes playing in the back of my mind.

"More than that," the doctor says. "The paramedics had to resuscitate you in the restaurant, five more times in the ambulance and you were in cardiac arrest when they brought into the E.R."

My pulse spikes and I wince. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Stella looks away and runs her hands through her short blonde hair.

Now it really is worse.

"Did you see his face?" Anders repeats the question.

The emotions I wasn't feeling when I woke up pour into me now. Shame. Regret. Grief.

 _Rage._

 _Whoa, where'd that come from?_

"No," I answer. "I saw him. I saw the kid. I just went for him—just reacted."

 _And he's still out there._

"How did he even get in? I locked that place down myself."

"Were you the only one in the building?" Anders asks.

I'm suddenly under the impression that I've made an error. No way is the blame for any of this getting passed off on me.

 _But I am to blame. I was supposed to protect those kids._

 _Vengeance._

"I was supposed to be," I reply, doing my best to ignore the sudden jolt I feel as that word settles into me.

"What _did_ you see?" Anders asks.

His tone sets me off. "I saw a kid get killed, Detective," I growl. "What would your reaction have been, huh? 'Oh my God, I better make sure I get a good look at this guy so I can identify him to the police as the _child murderer_ ' or 'Oh my God, I've gotta stop him from killing this kid'?!"

"Matt," Stella says my name.

I don't hear her. "What would you have done, Anders?" I demand. "What would your priorities have been, huh? Don't you dare talk down to me! I've walked this beat before. I used to be a cop until my partner decided to hamstring me and I got drummed out of the department. I know how this works and I'm not sharing the blame for he did. I did my job as a guard to the best of my ability and I did my job as a _human being_ to the best of my abilities!"

"Matthew, please calm down!" Stella raises her voice to get my attention.

I calm down but I'm not finished. "The kid was wearing a red and white shirt. Jailbird style stripes. Curly red hair. Maybe ten years old. The last time I saw him was in the prize room. Check the cameras."

A muscle twitches in his jaw. He doesn't like being told how to do his job. Get over it. He'll probably look me up. Good.

"Thank you," he says. "That's something to work with, at least." He starts to leave, then turns back. "How important is that puppet in all of this?"

"The puppet?" I ask in bewilderment, all the anger gone.

"Before you fell into a coma, you kept muttering about the puppet," the doctor said.

I shake my head. "We talked about it. Me and the kid. He wanted to know what its job was. All the animatronics had a job. Singing. Serving food. I told him the puppet was hanging with the plush toys because it was his job to keep them safe. Ten-year-old logic, I guess. It got smashed in the fight."

"Is this it?" Anders pulls it out of a plastic bag.

I blink in disbelief. The puppet is not only intact, but it doesn't have a scratch on it. "He slammed me into that thing. I can't believe it's in one piece."

A thought skims my mind and I flash back to that night. The kid. The fight. Could there have been two people there? No, I know without a doubt that I only saw one guy.

"You alright?" Anders asks.

"I don't know," I can't stop staring at the puppet. "There was something else…something else that happened that night…but I'm—I'm missing it."

"That happens," he says. "If you remember, let me know."

"I'll do that," I tell him.

He leaves and Stella is settling me in bed, not giving me a say in whether I sleep or not, talking to the doctor about me like I'm not even there. Normally, I would protest this but my mind is far too preoccupied to even really acknowledge that it's happening.

I know for a fact that there was only one guy in that room that night.

I also know, with equal surety, that something else was there, as well.


	3. Chapter 3

I never wanted to set foot in Freddy Fazbear's again. Yet, somehow, I found myself walking through the front doors. In the time it took me to recover enough to leave the hospital, finally be released from the doctor's bedrest orders and escape my sister's mother-henning, the police took down the yellow tape and the restaurant is open for business again.

The dining hall is a little empty but I expected that after what happened. I also expect that it won't stay that way forever.

The company is paying my medical expenses since everything happened on their property and there's check for lost wages with my name on it. Last I heard, they were supporting the victim's family financially, as well. Trying to stave off as much bad PR as possible.

"I never thought I'd see you here again."

I turn and see Anders walking out of the boss' office.

"I need a job," I tell him.

"Don't we all?" he says. I guess he's forgiven me for losing my temper that day. I never called him. I never remembered what it was that happened that night. "But I figured you'd go anywhere else but here."

"Me too," I say. "I guess I'm…looking for some kind of closure."

"That's normal," he assures me. "You were a good cop."

I knew he'd check me out. "Yeah, I was."

"It's a shame when a cop goes dirty," he says and I can tell the sadness is genuine.

"Tell me about it," I reply sarcastically.

"You would have made a good detective, too," Anders tells me. "Medical report said you could have gone back on duty but that it wasn't advised."

I nod. "They fixed my leg but it never completely healed. I've got the speed but not the endurance, so if I couldn't catch the perp within a certain distance, he was home free. I can do light jogging for exercise but that's it."

And I ran track in high school.

"Well, good luck," Anders shakes my hand and leaves.

"Didn't think I'd see you again, Matt," the boss says when I appear in the doorway. "I'm glad you're here, don't get me wrong. If there's anything you need help with, just let me know."

"I want the night shift," I tell him and then realize what I said.

He blinks. "Sure thing," he says. "I'd love to have you back. But…why the night shift?"

"Are you trying to tell me there's a waiting list for the position?" I ask. I don't answer his question. I don't know myself.

He scoffs. "Definitely not. Can you start tonight?"

Saw that coming. "Yeah."

"Great! See you at twelve."

I don't know why he said that. Not like he's gonna be here.

I go back to my sister's place and crash on the couch with a splitting headache. I've lived here since I got out of the hospital. She moved my stuff out of my apartment so fast, I thought I'd been evicted. I wake up to the smell of sautéed mushrooms, garlic and onions. My sister only cooks when someone's sick. I guess dying fifteen or so times in a row counts.

"Supper will be done soon," she tells me. "Why don't you get a shower?"

That's not really a suggestion but she has a point. If I wait until after supper, I'll be waiting on her which mean I'll be waiting an hour for the water to heat up again. Besides, I'm hoping it will ease this headache I've had since I left the restaurant.

The bathroom is dimly lit from the hallway and as I step in front of the mirror to flip on the vanity light, my heart stutters in my chest and chill races down my spine. I flip the light on so fast, I nearly bruise my hand. I take a deep breath to calm myself, but my heart is still racing. I laugh nervously, realizing that what I had seen was the shadows in the room playing over my face like a black eye-mask but I can't deny it freaked me out. Maybe going back to the restaurant isn't a good idea after all.

Over supper, I intentionally neglect to tell my sister that I'm going back there. But when eleven thirty rolls around and I step into the living room in my uniform, the look on her face makes me wish I had.

"You're going back to the restaurant?" she asks incredulously.

"I need the job," I tell her as blandly as I can.

"That badly?"

I didn't want her to be upset which is why I didn't bring it up over supper. "I'm not going to sponge off of you forever. I did have my own place, you know."

"Yeah, I know," she says and I see the odd mixture of worry and pride that she always gets when the subject of the future comes up. "I know I don't show it, Matt. But I've been worried about you ever since you…gave up your badge," she says it softly, knowing it's a touchy subject. "That changed you. And now this…I don't get to say 'You almost died'. Because you did." She fiddles with her short blonde hair. That's her tell. How I know she's genuinely upset about something.

I don't say anything. I just let her talk. She never lets herself get emotional and I'm not going to give her a hard time about it. I did die. At least the doctor was able to save my kidney.

"Matt, you're all I've got."

"Stella, we are all we've had since we were kids," I remind her. She was ten and I was six. A family disaster put us in the foster system and no family miracle ever happened to get us out. Now, she's a web designer with an apartment uptown and I was a cop, sworn to protect and serve. I did something good with my life, at least. So I guess, in a way, we've both triumphed over our circumstances. "When are you going back to New York?" I ask.

She screws up one side of her mouth. "I don't know. I might not."

"You can't babysit me forever," I tell her and put a little snark in my voice just to rile her up and give her something else to think about besides worrying about me.

"Who says I plan to?" she snaps back but there's a smile in her eyes that lets me know she's aware of what I'm doing.

I give her a shrug, just a small, impertinent lift of my shoulder because I know she hates it.

She narrows her eyes and her hand goes to the throw pillow beside her. I asked her once as a kid, why they were called throw pillows and she showed me.

"You don't want to do that," I tell her.

"Why not?" she asks dangerously.

"Because you don't want to break your vase," I jerk my thumb behind me at this thing—this modern art piece that looks a bronzed streak of lightening—that somehow manages to hold water and flowers.

She settles back into the couch and tucks her bare feet up under her. You'd think with how well her job pays that she'd be in satin pajamas or something like that. No, she still wears her plaid, cotton shorts and ACDC T-shirt that she's had since she was sixteen. "Go to work."

As I walk toward the door, she says, "And when are you going to get a haircut?"

I run my hand through my black hair, aware that it touches my ears and doesn't quite meet her definition of 'clean-cut'.

"Before it hits my shoulders," I tell her.

I hear the pillow hit the door before it even latches closed.


	4. Chapter 4

We dream every night. We just don't have the same dream every night.

Ever since I woke up in the hospital, I have.

Every night, I come back to this restaurant. To that room. Sometimes I walk around like I did in real life. Sometimes I go right into the prize room. However it happens, that always where I end up. He's always there. Sometimes he's waiting for me with a bloody knife. Sometimes I surprise him like I did that night. We always fight. The kid always dies.

But something else happens in those dreams. During the fight, my perspective shifts to third person. I don't walk around the room. I stay in one spot. I want to move. I want to help. But I can't, no matter what I do.

I always have this sense of a third person in the room but as everything ends, it slowly fades like it should with a dream. Only thing is, every time I wake up, that sense lingers like an old smell before it vanishes completely.

This happens every night.

The animatronics have a free-roam mode for nighttime. I don't find them to be any creepier than they are in the daytime but tonight, something about this place is different.

Of course, I did die here.

I wanted the night shift because I didn't want to see the parents. See the anxiety on their faces as they wonder how close their kids came to being the victim the authorities still haven't found. What I don't understand is why I felt so strongly about coming back to this place.

I told Anders I needed closure. What I've never said was that I feel some strange obligation to be here. Some strange sense of…unfinished business.

I walk through the restaurant, wondering what I'm looking for. The emotions running through me make me worry. I know the grief and regret is normal but underneath those feelings is something…dangerous. A quiet rage that courses through me like a tendril of icy water.

Bonnie wanders into the dining and pauses, looking at me. Suddenly, I feel sad for him. Then, I realize that I just personalized this machine.

"How's it going, Bonnie?" I say.

He stares for a moment longer, then he walks away.

I continue my round until I find myself in the prize room. My blood runs cold standing in this room. Everything looks pristine. No damage done. No bloodstains on the floor. No answers, either. I shake my head. How could anybody target a kid? I look around my flashlight illuminates the puppet hanging on the wall.

Yet, one more anomaly I haven't been able to figure out. I saw this thing in pieces on the floor as I died, so how did Anders find it intact?

"I bet you saw his face," I say dismally. "Too bad you can't say."

My dream comes back to me and I just close my eyes and prepare to endure the torment again. The fight. The perspective swap.

My eyes snap open. In third person, I'm frozen, unable to do anything but it isn't an angle of the room I'm familiar with. The door ahead of me on the left. The shelves of plushies directly on my left. The counter on my right. Cold sheetrock pressed against my back.

I straighten up in shocked disbelief. "No way." I walk over to the puppet and reach out to touch it like I'm afraid it's charged with electricity. I'm a little disappointed when I touch it and nothing happens. I turn and press my back against the wall and look out at the room. Then, I slide down into a squat until I'm level with the puppet.

This is the perspective my dream takes.

"That is freaking creepy," I mutter.

Then, I hear crying.

I dodge out of the room and shine my light up and down the hallway trying to find the source of the sound. If he's back I'll beat him to death with my flashlight, I swear it. He's not getting another kid on my watch.

I follow the sound but seems like it's moving so I end up not following it so much as chasing it. When I come to Pirate's Cove, the sound suddenly gets quiet and I spin around trying to find it again before I lose him. The noise doesn't move. In fact, it sounds like it's all around me.

I'm honestly afraid that I'm losing my mind.

"What is going on?" I whisper.

The sound stops. Only for a millisecond, but it stops.

I turn around to Pirate's Cove and shine my light over the curtains. Foxy's job is entertainment. Pirate's Cove is his stage. My guts feel so wound up I think I might lose my kidney after all. I gingerly part the curtains until I can see Foxy. He's slumped over in the corner and his eyes are dark like someone turned him off.

I better not get blamed for his servos locking up.

Suddenly, his eyes blink on and he launches himself at me. Thank God he was on the floor or I wouldn't have been able to dodge. He's on his feet just as fast and comes after me with arms out and jaws wide and something like scream trying to come out of his voice box.

"WHOA!" I put my hand out and shout like I'm telling a perp to put his hands up. I want Foxy to put his hands down. To my intense surprise, he stops, staring at me with something like anger in his light up eyes. Anger and fear.

"Easy, Foxy," I tell him, hoping I'll hear his servos relax. "Easy."

Slowly, he straightens up but that look never leaves him. These things don't have expressions and they certainly can't show emotion.

"What's going on?" I whisper again like I'm expecting an answer.

Suddenly, my vision goes white like a camera flash and I wince away, hoping Foxy won't attack me again. When I look at him, I don't see Foxy. I see a filmy image of a little boy in a red and white striped shirt with curly red hair and suddenly, I know his name.

Charlie.

 _I told him to leave me alone! I wanted to go find my mommy!_

I can't breathe.

 _I told him to leave me ALONE!_

The last word is a breathy scream.

"I know you did," I tell him.

 _Why wouldn't he leave me alone?_

The crying starts again.

 _He wouldn't leave me alone. And now I can't go home_.

I feel that current of icy rage wind through me again.

"You can stay here with me," I tell him. "He can't hurt you anymore."

Suddenly, I see Foxy again and the animatronic relaxes, then walks back to the Cove. I know I'll have to keep an eye on him. I have no idea just how volatile he might be, but for now he seems…resigned.

I nearly run to the bathroom and as the light flickers on, the shadows briefly streak my face under my eyes and a chill skates up my spine. I'm too drained to feel startled this time but my hands are shaking so badly I almost can't turn on the cold water. I splash my face over and over until the nausea goes away. I can't tell anybody what just happened. No one would believe it. I am on my own.

I'm alone and Foxy is inhabited by the ghost of the child that I failed to save.

My legs won't support me and I slide down the tiled wall and hide my face in my arm as the sobs rip through me with a vengeance.

 _Vengeance._


	5. Chapter 5

Anders ambushes me while I'm out eating lunch with my sister the next day. When she leaves to go back to work, he brings up the case.

"So you still haven't found his body."

He shakes his head. "No, and we probably won't ever. You were a cop. You know how these things go."

I nod dismally. "How did this even happen? How did he get his hands on Charlie?"

My pulse spikes as I realize my slip with the name.

Anders frowns. "His mother thought he was with his aunt. His aunt thought he was with his mother."

"Really? That's it?" I say incredulously. He didn't notice. Good.

"It only takes a second," he says.

"Tell me about it," I remark bitterly.

"What shift are you working?" he asks.

"Twelve to six," I reply.

He whistles. "That's an early shift."

"Or late, depending on how you look at things," I say. "I've always been a glass-half-empty kind of guy."

"I always said, 'Who cares? It's Vodka'," Anders grins.

I almost laugh in spite of myself. All I can really think about is Charlie. Is he going to be trapped in Foxy forever? I feel sick to my stomach thinking about it. I'm tormented by what I know. If I don't say anything, am I an accessory to this atrocity? How am I supposed to tell him that I spoke to Charlie's ghost during my last shift? I know he'll just pass it off as trauma symptoms and insist I see a doctor about some medication.

I realize again, that I'm on my own.

I surprise my sister with supper when she comes in from work. She looks dead on her feet but she smiles and that's enough of a thank you for me.

"This is really good!" she exclaims.

"It must be for you to talk with your mouth full, Manner Queen," I tease. "And try not to sound _so_ surprised. Asian cuisine happens to be something I can cook very well."

"Is it the only thing you can cook well?" she asks.

"Pretty much," I confess and we snicker like kids.

"You know, you're never supposed to cut the noodles," she says. "It supposedly shortens your lifespan."

"So, _that's_ where I went wrong," I say, forking a piece of chicken. I really am pleased with the food. The noodles aren't mushy and the chicken is just mildly spicy.

"Glad you can joke about it," she says with a tired smile.

"Might as well," I answer. "I certainly have a new perspective on things."

I mean, it's not like my spirit is trapped in an animatronic inside the place where I was murdered.

I'm working so hard to keep the mood light for her and all I can do is pray she doesn't see through it and realize just how soul-sick I am. I'm ashamed to realize that a part of me wishes that seeing Charlie's ghost was just a trauma symptom that the right meds would get rid of.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Stella?" the question falls out of me.

"Yes, I do," she says. "I don't think taking that job again was a good move, Matt."

Oh, she's so close to what the problem is. "The job is okay—"

"It's a daily reminder of an incredibly traumatic experience," she presses.

"I have three daily reminders of that," I point around my torso where my scars are hidden under my shirt. "The job isn't the problem."

The ghost isn't a problem, either. Not on his own. But the fact that there _is_ a ghost there, is a problem.

"But I don't think it's helping, either," she says.

"It's just…something I need to do," I tell her.

"Be honest with me, Matt," she says. "Are you okay?"

I sigh. "No, not really."

"What will it take to get you there?" she asks.

"I don't know," I answer. "Some justice would go a long way."

"I know," she tells me. "I'll clean up. Why don't you get a couple of hours of sleep before you go in?"

"I wouldn't mind that," I agree. "Either one, actually."

She grins. "Go before I change my mind."

I go the guest bedroom she moved me in to when I was released from the hospital and flop across the bed. I doze off, waiting for the dream to start and I'm not disappointed.

Only this time, it's different.

I still find the guy in the prize room. We still fight. The perspective changes to third person and I watch myself get stabbed to death next to Charlie. But this time, I can move. I feel myself float away from the wall and head toward my body. I pause over Charlie and the look of fear and confusion on his face rips my very soul apart with grief, anger and craving for violence.

I drift over to my body and even though I'm unconscious and dying, I'm still trying to move, still gripping my flashlight. As I slowly start sinking to the floor beside my body, everything fades to black.

 _No, I'm not done yet._

I wake up gasping for air, sitting straight up in bed with a cold sweat running down my back.

"Matt, are you okay?" Stella asks coming into the room.

I don't know how I look, but apparently it's rough enough to make her head to the kitchen and I hear her clinking glasses. She comes back with a glass of water and just like when I woke up in the hospital, she doesn't give me a choice about whether I drink it.

"Just a…just a dream," I tell her. My voice sounds so shaky.

She stares at me in disbelief. "Just a dream?" she repeats and holds up my trembling hand. She probably saw me shaking from across the room. "Just a dream?"

I nod.

She shakes her head. "I do not like you working there, Matt."

"Stella—"

"This isn't healthy!"

"It's not the job Stella," I tell her. "I've been dreaming about that night since it happened."

"And you never said anything, why?" she demands.

I rub my eyes. "Because you were already so worried, Stella, I didn't want to make it worse."

She looks at me like I've betrayed her.

"It's just a dream," I assure her but the words ring false even to me.

What else happened that night? What else was in the room?

What am I not done with yet?

Eventually, she leaves and I hear her bedroom door close. I look at the clock. I still have a few hours before I need to leave for work. Rain starts pounding on the window and just as I start to calm down, lightning flashes and I see my face in the dresser mirror. A startled cry locks itself in my throat so tightly I'm afraid I'll suffocate. I put on a sweatshirt and burrow into it, trying to get warm. I can't pass this off as a trick of the light or just an odd shadow this time.

The way the lightning bleached my skin and painted shadows down my face...I shake my head, trying to deny the image branded into my brain.

Maybe it's because it was the last thing I saw as I died.

In those couple of seconds, I looked just like the puppet.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This is a short one, guys. I had typed everything in Word and then pulled it into here and it got rid of my different fonts! Needless to say, I was a little miffed about that. The notes were written by two different people and so I had used two different fonts to show that (kinda like handwriting styles) and the only thing that stayed was the bold print and it doesn't look nearly as cool. Argh. Oh well. There's always italics.

* * *

When I get to work, I immediately check on Foxy. He starts toward me then stops, like he recognizes me. Then, he disappears back inside Pirate Cove. I see an Out of Order sign in front of the curtains and it nearly enrages me.

Out of Order? Really? Why wasn't I told about this?

I get to the security office and find a note taped to the desk.

 _Matt,_

 _Something is going on with the Foxy animatronic. We don't know what, but he's become increasingly unpredictable. We have someone scheduled to come and check him out but until then, we've put him in standby. Don't worry about it. If his servos lock up, we'll deal with that later. As a reminder: Tampering with the animatronics is prohibited and will result in immediate dismissal._

 _-Management._

Hmmm…does a ghost inhabiting Foxy count as tampering? I'm still intensely annoyed at these people. Sure, just put him in standby. That'll solve the problem. Then, I realize that someone wrote on the back of the page.

 _ **Matt,**_

 _ **For Heaven's sake—for your sake—stay AWAY from Foxy. We don't know what's happened but he's dangerous. He attacked Jeremy, Matt. Bit the whole freaking front of his head OFF. I don't even know if he's gonna live. Please, Matt, be careful.**_

 _ **-Mike**_

I'm stunned. Foxy attacked Jeremy? I knew he could be volatile at night but I didn't think it carried over into the day. What could I have said?

'Hey, Foxy's haunted by the ghost of a murdered kid.'

Yeah, that would have gone over really well.

Poor Jeremy.

I don't really bother checking the cameras anymore. I just walk around through the rooms, acclimating myself to the environment. The animatronics either follow me for brief periods then leave, or they ignore me completely. As I move toward the back of the building, I hear it.

Crying.

My blood runs cold and I follow the sound, knowing what I'm going to find. I end up at the safe room, a rebar reinforced concrete room that serves as a storage room. I open the door and the sound gets louder. I shine my light all over the room and see boxes of parts and the yellow Bonnie suit in the corner. The crying hasn't stopped. I step into the room to check more thoroughly and my foot splashes down in a puddle of water. I shine my flashlight up to the ceiling and see a sheen of water with suspended drops just waiting to fall.

The boss needs to get this fixed.

I start searching the room. Under the shelves. Behind the boxes. Then, as I turn and my light scans across the other side of the room, I see her. Huddled in the corner behind the pipes, vent ducts and old arcade games, is the filmy image of a little girl with blonde pigtails. I step toward her. She looks up and cringes away from me with a whimper.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Lucy," I tell her.

 _He left me in the dark,_ she sobs. _I'm afraid of the dark. I want my daddy! I want to go home!_

I walk over to her and reach down to pick her up. I'm absolutely shocked to find that she has substance. I hold her against my chest and carry her down the hall.

"You're safe now," I promise her.

 _Mommy was going to bake cookies. And now I won't get to._

The rage bubbles up inside me and I swallow it down.

"Chica loves cookies," I tell her as we walk into the kitchen. The duck animatronic looks around at the noise and comes closer when she sees us. "Would you like to meet Chica? She'd love to bake cookies with you."

She nods and wipes a hand across her eyes.

I step toward the animatronic and set the little girl on the floor. I take her hand and put in Chica's and she vanishes. Chica's eyes flicker sporadically, then stay lit and there is an unmistakable sadness in the glow.

"I'll take care of you," I promise. "You're not alone anymore."

Chica looks down and her body heaves what could pass for a sigh and she wanders away. I feel the tears running down my cheeks as I watch her leave.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper. Then, cold rage smothers my grief and my tears practically freeze in my eyes.

I want to find the guy responsible for this. I won't give him a prison cell or the chance to spend his life in a mental institution. I don't want to take the chance that the system might let him slip.

He certainly didn't give these kids a chance.

I turn to leave and shadows flash down my face in my reflection in one of the pans. My heart skips a beat, my insides feel frozen and the shadows vanish as quickly as they came.

What is happening to me?


	7. Chapter 7

Lucy was on a field trip with her class to visit the zoo. Somehow, she got separated from the group. Probably a case of misplaced responsibility again. No one noticed until they got to the zoo and were handing out the admission bracelets.

I've been feeling this overwhelming need for privacy, so I decide to get my apartment back. Stella can't really object. I've been cleared to live on my own now. I go to the restaurant one afternoon and surprise the boss.

"Matt, what can I do for you?" he asks.

Big mistake. "Looking for my lost wages," I tell him.

He hesitates and his eyes shift. "Well, that's going to be a problem," he says. "We may have to close down again."

"Because of the girl?"

"Yeah, the police managed to trace her steps here and can't find anything else afterward," he answers with a sigh. "They took the security tapes but I don't think it's going to help them. It didn't last time. Something's been wrong with the cameras."

"William said they were glitchy," I tell him.

"He warned the police about that, too," he says. "Maybe they can get something off of them this time." He hands me my check without another word and I leave.

I meet William at the door.

"Hey, Matt. Haven't seen you in a while," he greets me.

"Yeah, I'm on the night shift," I tell him. "So, another day in the Bonnie suit?"

"Nah, boss won't let us wear the suits anymore," he says. "There was an…accident…with a kid and he's deemed the suits unsafe for use. So, now I get to walk around as the security guard. At least the uniform doesn't try to kill me with heat stroke. Good to see you, Matt."

He disappears inside the security office and I leave to go talk to my former landlord to discuss my apartment. He's already given it to somebody else. For some reason, this bothers me a lot more than it should. I have no idea where I'll be able to find another apartment but I can't be too far from the restaurant.

So many days I hated that job. Now, I'm hunting for a place to live based on how close I'll be to it. I have to agree with everyone. Going back there after what happened is probably not psychologically healthy but…

"You can try talking to Barton Oates," he offers.

"Who?" I've never heard of this guy.

"He has a complex on Thirteenth Street. Last I heard, he has some empty space. Barely a block from the pizza restaurant where that kid went missing. "

Barely a block away?

"I guess that's a good thing?" he asks.

I guess my relief was obvious. Just how relieved I am confuses me.

"I wouldn't ever set foot in that restaurant again if all that had happened to me," he says and shakes his head.

I never wanted to again. Yet, here I am going to get an apartment that's practically in Fazbear's backyard.

The apartments are half the price and when he shows me around, I understand why. Some of the walls are bare brick and the wooden floors look unfinished. The whole place has the shabby chic look but I don't think he intended that. The apartments on the fourth floor are the cheapest because no one really wants to walk up four flights of stairs. I can understand that. Moving furniture up there would be astronomically difficult.

When he unlocks the door to one the apartments, I realize that the appeal is that they're bigger. A lot bigger. Two bedrooms and a bath and a half bigger. The kitchen and living room are open and there are big windows that face the restaurant. The whole time he's showing me the complex, he's complaining about his business falling away because no one wants to live so close to the restaurant anymore. His only tenants are three old couples and a struggling musician and they all live on the first floor.

Perfect.

I don't even look at the other rooms. I pay him three months of rent right there and arrange to have my stuff brought up here. By the end of the afternoon, I'm moved in. My sister shows up with bags and boxes full of groceries and arranges the kitchen with me.

"I like it," she says, looking around the living room. "We could jazz it up a little bit more, but I like it. It's kind of got this…shabby chic look going for it. Suits you."

She said it to get a reaction out of me.

"Are you saying I'm shabby?"

"You haven't gotten a haircut."

"Stella, if you had your way, I'd be buzzed or bald," I tell her.

She ignores me and walks to the window. "It's so close," she says and I can tell it really bothers her. "How could you want to be so close to that place?"

I don't know, Stella. I don't know understand it any better than you do.

"Convenience, maybe?" I say, as though the reason should be obvious.

She laughs a little. "Well, it is that."

"Are you staying for supper?" I ask.

"No, I have too much to do. But thanks. I have to leave for a while on business. Promise me that you'll be careful," she says.

"Sure thing," I tell her.

I wait until I'm sure she's gone and then I head for the second bedroom. I told Stella I was just using it for storage for now. For now meant until she left. I open the door and see the boxes in the room. I turn on the lamp on the table and start unpacking. First, I assemble the cot and push it into the corner. I let Stella make my bed with only the expected amount of arguing because I don't expect to do much sleeping in there. The other boxes hold papers. News clippings, floor plans of the restaurant, work schedules and notes. Some of them are on torn pieces of paper and receipts. I wrote on whatever I had in my hand and sometimes, I wrote on my hand until I could find something else. One box has pages and pages of drawings, a notebook that I record my thoughts in and that I've written my dream in over and over again. Every time I woke up, I would write it down, looking for any change, any detail that I might have missed.

I pin all of it to the wall and connect different color strings to anything that corresponds or _might_ correspond to anything else. The cop in me is working overtime trying to piece everything together but something about it feels personal. I realize I'm out for blood and I don't know why.

The knowledge that the restaurant might close down again nearly sends me into a panic. I have to be there!

I look at my watch and I realize that I'm counting down the hours until I go in to work.

Why do I feel so tied to that place?

I shake my head and keep working. I know there's something here that I'm missing and I doubt it has much to do with the other person I know was in the room that night. I dump the rest of drawings in the floor so I can sort through them. When I first woke up one morning and realized that I had drawn in my sleep I panicked and stuffed the papers under the mattress. I wasn't about to let my sister find that out. She probable would have committed me.

So many of them are just scribbles. I had thought it was the same thing as talking in your sleep. Usually it's just mumbling and noises with the occasional clear word coming through. I was wrong. As I look back through them, the scribbles suddenly become an image repeated on every page and I jump up like I'm sitting in snakes.

In my sleep, I covered these pages with pictures of the puppet.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Another short one but I promise this is the shortest one I did.

* * *

I stayed in that room until I was almost late leaving for work. I haven't eaten in hours and my nerves are wound so tightly that I'm hypersensitive. I notice everything almost to the point of distraction. I go straight to the security office even though I don't know what I'm looking for. I sit in the chair and stare at the cameras in frustration. Somehow, I doubt they've been fixed. I've never felt so tired.

"What good are you?" I growl at the screens. "You can't even show us how these kids are getting killed." I punch the desk and hear something rattle loose. I bend over to look under the desk and see a tape dangling from the bottom of the desk. I pull it free. Why is this here? Better question: Who put it here?

Chica appears in the doorway.

"Hi, Lucy," I greet her tiredly.

She just stands there staring at me.

"What is it?" I ask.

She turns around and walks off.

"What's going on?" I call after her. I get up to follow and see that she's already at the end of the hallway. I run after her. "What is it?"

She doesn't stop and a feeling of sick dread washes over me as I realize where we're going.

The back room.

She stops in front of the door. As I turn the knob, she leaves. I turn on my light and step inside. The silence envelops me and somehow it's worse than hearing the others cry. Something is off here.

I look behind the boxes and find the filmy forms of twin dark-haired little boys with their hands clamped over their ears and their eyes screwed shut.

"Bobby," I say his name. "Joey."

They look up at me in terror, then, they relax.

 _Is he gone?_

I nod.

 _He lied to us. He said he would show us where the bathroom was. Then, he locked us in here and everyone left._

"Not everyone," I tell him. "I'm still here." I slip my flashlight into my belt and reach out toward them. "Let's get you out of here."

They each take one of my hands and I lead them out of the room. Chica wanders by on her way to the kitchen.

 _How come they don't sleep?_

"They don't need to," I tell Bobbie. "Which one is your favorite?"

 _Bonnie_.

 _I like Freddy._

Those are the first words Joey has spoken.

"Do you want to meet them?" I ask.

 _Yes!_

"Let's go find them."

We find Freddy first by the stage. Joey seems to get even shyer as we approach the bear.

 _Can I touch him?_

"Sure," I tell him. "He's friendly. He likes hugs, too."

He puts his arms around Freddy's waist and vanishes. The bear freezes for a second then he walks up on the stage and stays there.

Bonnie's in the prize room. I lead Bobby over to the big bunny and he reaches out to touch the soft fabric. Then, he vanishes too. Bonnie's eyes flicker for a moment and then he walks away. I feel so sick. How long will they be here? What will it take for them to be okay? Then, I realize that I don't even know what okay is anymore. I'm having the same nightmare every time I close my eyes, obsessing over every tiny detail about the restaurant trying to find out who's responsible for the deaths of these four kids and drawing pictures of the puppet in my sleep.

I turn to leave and spin back instantly, shining my light at the wall where the puppet hangs, guarding the plushies.

For a second, I thought he was missing.

That reminds me of something else that was off.

I return to the back room and shine my light around. Nothing is missing. No one has touched the shelves, the boxes of parts haven't even been open and the yellow Bonnie suit is still slumped…against…the…wall…

But not by the boxes where he was last night.

Someone moved him.


	9. Chapter 9

I intended to watch the tape as soon as I got home from my shift. My first clue of how exhausted I was when I woke up sitting against the wall by my door. Something is digging into my hip and I pull the tape out of my jacket. I barely remember putting in there last night. I have to watch it but my stomach demands that I eat something first. So, I head for the kitchen to cook a quick lunch…is it time for lunch or is it still morning? My watch says twelve o'clock. I slept for six hours but it feels like two. I try to cook but I can't focus. I end up throwing some combination of meat and vegetables into a pot and hoping it turns out edible.

I put in the tape and sit on the couch to watch while my food simmers. I'm a little startled to see the security feed on my television. Who would hide one of the security tapes?

William had said that the cameras were glitching but this tape is almost perfectly clean. As it cycles through the different cameras, I realize that there's a birthday party happening whatever day this is. I see the kids running around the tables. Freddy, Bonnie and Chica on stage doing their routine. I see Pirate's Cove and the 'Out of Order' sign.

That still infuriates me.

Then, I see Bobby and Joey in one of the dining halls wearing party hats.

Grief hits me like a truck.

I'm watching their birthday party.

They wander to the prize room, then the camera catches them in the hall again. I freeze the frame and stare hard at the screen. In the fuzzy scene, toward the end of the hall, is the image of a second Bonnie.

Only one person ever wore that suit.

I write down the time stamp and run for the phone in the kitchen. My food's burned and stuck in the pot. Oh well. I dial the restaurant and take a breath to calm myself.

"Freddy Fazbear's Pizza."

"Uh, yes, my name is Matthew Walker. I'm the nighttime security guard there. I need to speak with Mike Schmidt."

"Just one moment."

Static fills the line.

"Security. This is Mike."

"Mike, it's Matt."

"Matt, tell me you got that note," he sounds both relieved and frantic.

"Yeah, I got it. Thanks."

"Holy Lord, I don't know what happened," he says in a rush. "I had just come in for my shift and all of a sudden—" he breaks off. "I just…I can't get it out of my head."

"Why was Jeremy even there?" I ask. "It was his day off."

"The boss called him in because William left."

"William left?"

"Yeah, halfway through a big birthday party he said he had to leave. Some kind of emergency, I don't know."

"And he called Jeremy?"

"Yeah, he didn't want to pay me that much overtime," Mike said bitterly.

"Overtime? When _did_ William leave?" I need a second time stamp.

"About one."

And the second Bonnie showed up on the tape at twelve thirty.

"Can I ask you something weird, Matt?"

You don't know what weird means, Mike.

"Sure," I tell him.

"Where'd the puppet go?"

A chill settles in my stomach and spreads up my spine. "What do you mean?"

"When I got here this afternoon, the puppet was gone."

"It was there last night," I say in surprise.

"Huh, maybe William did something with it. He never did like it."

"Who knows," I say. "Speaking of things being messed with, who keeps moving the yellow Bonnie suit?"

"No one is supposed to touch it," he says. "That thing's been off-limits since you went into the hospital. That's not why, you know, it's just the time-frame."

"Do we have anybody new on day shift that might wear it out of ignorance?" I ask even though I know no one new has been hired in months.

"No," he tells me. "Besides, you and William are the only ones scrawny enough to fit into the thing. I'll let the boss know that someone's been messing with it though."

"Thanks, Mike."

"Sure thing."

I hang up and grip the counter.

All the kids kept saying _he_. _He_ wouldn't leave me alone. _He_ lied to us. _He_ left me.

William always wore that suit. The suit has been in the back room since I was in hospital and that's been over a month.

No one has gotten anything from the back room in I don't know how long, so there would be no reason to move the Bonnie suit.

Unless someone had worn it.

The hall where I last saw the twins on camera leads to the back room. That's where I have found all the kids.

Except for Charlie.

I found Charlie—actual Charlie—in the prize room right after he'd been killed. Did he manage to run away? Is that why Foxy is so much more aggressive, because I didn't find Charlie like I found the others? Because he had to fend for himself again?

Was he gunning for William and attacked Jeremy by mistake?

The tape I found is nearly pristine, so why are the other tapes so scratchy?

The answer hits me and I groan.

William was swapping them out. His comments about the cameras being glitchy was just to cover his tracks. If the cameras were messed up, everyone would expect imperfect recordings. When he left in such a hurry that day, he must not have been able to grab it. How would that have looked?

'Hey, I have this emergency but let me duck into the office for a second.'

He had to leave it and I found it.

I hurry to the TV and rewind the tape until it shows the beginning of the party and then I package it, write Anders' address on it, walk downstairs as calmly as I can and mail it without a return address. He has to come up with a similar conclusion and I don't want to explain why I took it home first.

A thunderstorm rattles my windows and nearly swallows the light of the street lamps. I don't know where the rest of the day has gone. I've been in a daze ever since I mailed the tape and I have the news on for some background noise. The silence was so heavy, it felt like the night I died. I'm trying to eat some cold Chinese that I got for lunch after I burned up my pot but nothing is appetizing. This meal will probably last me until next week.

Suddenly, the news changes to show officers stuffing William into a squad car to take him in for questioning.

Yes!

I have an hour to bathe, dress and leave. As I step out of the shower, the power goes out and I feel that familiar chill settle in my spine. The battery powered night light casts a dim glow and the room is more shadows than light. I close my eyes and grip the sink as I feel a strange sense of reality settle over me. I open my eyes and look in the mirror, holding the gaze of my reflection, forcing the part of myself that wants to deny it to accept it.

The black around my eyes like a mask. The streaks down my face like tears.

The puppet vanished last night.

My feelings of responsibility, my dream, my sudden protective tendencies toward the animatronics—to protect the little guys, my subconscious obsession over the puppet…makes sense.

I am the Puppet.

And yes, I do have unfinished business.


	10. Chapter 10

I walk into the restaurant and feel like I've come home. The animatronics are off the stage but I know where to find them. I go to Pirate's Cove first. For once, Foxy doesn't make a move. He just looks at me.

"Everything's going to be okay," I tell him.

He looks toward the dining hall where I can hear the others wandering around.

"We're still your friends," I say gently.

 _They said I'm broken. They're going to take me away._

He heard them talking about sending him off for diagnostics and repairs.

"And I'll put you back together," I promise. "Do you believe that?"

He can't really nod, but he tries. Then, he walks through the curtains.

I make a round of the building as per usual but as I come to the dining hall where the stage is, I see a figure in the back.

"What are you doing here, William?" I demand quietly.

"Yeah, it's not really my shift, is it?" he says.

"You were arrested," I tell him.

"Yeah, but the thing is, they really can't hold you without evidence," he replies smugly. "I mean, all they had was a fuzzy image on a tape. Of course, that gives them grounds for a warrant, which they'll probably get tomorrow. Then, they'll probably come and tear this place apart, which means you'll have to find a new job," he laughs.

He actually laughs.

"You know, you really don't need to be here, Matt," his tone turns serious. "In fact, you're not _supposed_ to be here."

"Yeah, I know," I say. "Because you killed me."

He shrugs as if to say, 'What did you expect?'

"You killed all those kids," I say and he doesn't even blink.

"I'll say this once, Matt. Don't get in the way," he swings the crowbar in his hand and tries to stare me down.

"Oh, it's far too late for that, William," I tell him coldly.

Lightning flashes through the building and he jumps back, eyes wide in shock.

I know what he sees.

He takes off running out into the hall and I chase him. As I round the corner, he slams me in the side with the crowbar. I hit the ground and he's about to swing again when Freddy comes out of nowhere and nearly runs right over him, arms stretched to the limit, mouth wide open.

William swings the crowbar and Freddy goes down sparking but now he's not thinking about me. He sprints down the hall and I follow him. He doesn't get far when Chica comes flying out of the kitchen with an unearthly shriek. She almost pins him to the wall but he brings the crowbar down on her head and she hits the floor.

He's still running and I'm gaining on him, but slowly. I'm shocked my ribs aren't broken.

Bonnie bursts out of the prize room and actually gets a grip on him. William shatters one of his legs, then his head and keeps running, heading for the back room. I'm almost to the corner of the hall when Foxy flashes by, almost a blur. I hear William scream, then, I hear a half dozen impacts and I know Foxy is down.

I slide to a stop in front of the door. The company has started blocking it up, supposedly to repair the water damage. The job will be done before the police ever get here with that warrant, I bet. I kick the door open and jump over the bricks, ready for William's attack.

He doesn't disappoint. He comes me after with a downward stroke that would have crushed my skull. Time seems to slow down as I dodge and then it almost jumps ahead when I slam my fist into his kidney. He grunts and goes down on one knee but he swings wildly toward me. Again, everything happens in slow motion as I dodge him and out of the corner of my eye, I actually see my outline blurring. He looks at me in horror.

He always did hate the puppet.

He comes after me again with pure insanity fueling his attack. I catch the crowbar and kick him in gut, breaking his grip. Now, it's my turn. I swing the crowbar down as hard as I can but he manages to roll out of the way and I hit the wall, spraying concrete shrapnel everywhere. Before he moves too far away, I lash out and catch him in his side. He screams and hits the floor.

I step through puddles to stand in front of him.

"Prison is too good for you."

He's looking at me, waiting on me to kill him. Then, he looks past me and scrambles to his feet in absolute horror.

"WHAT-?!"

In my peripheral vision, I see the kids fade into the room.

 _You lied to us!_

 _You left me in the dark!_

 _I told you to leave me ALONE!_

Charlie charges him and William runs for the Bonnie suit. I hear the other kids gasp and I know they're afraid of the suit and by William's chuckle, that's what he's counting on.

The suit spasms as the spring locks reengage and his chuckle turns into a scream as blood sprays through the joints. He collapses to his hands and knees, gasping and choking in agony, then he slumps against the wall.

The kids straighten, turn and fade out of the room.

I turn to leave.

"Matt, don't leave me here!" he croaks as I step over the bricks and close the door.

"You left them," I say softly.

I find them all in the prize room.

 _We hurt that bad man_.

I look at Charlie. "Yes, we did."

 _I hope nobody gives him a Band-Aid!_

I look at Joey and allow myself to smile. William is dead but I'm not sure he actually understands that.

 _If I leave, will we still be friends?_

I look at Lucy and drop to my knees. "We'll still be friends."

One by one, they vanish.

"Like I said," I speak into the empty air, "the Puppet's there to protect the little guys."


	11. Epilogue

The phone rings and I wipe my hands on my apron so I can answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Mike."

"Uh-huh," I grunt as I hold the phone to my shoulder so I can crack some eggs.

"Are you still looking for work?"

"Yep," I say. The restaurant closed nearly a year ago after it was unable to recover from the missing children incidents. Now, when I look out the window, I see the place where the restaurant used to be. All that's left are broken boards and crushed cinder blocks and somehow, it fits. Almost like it's a grave. Before they shut down for good, they gave us some decent severance pay and paid for Jeremy's medical bills. I don't know how he's gonna live with that part of his brain gone but they say he'll be okay.

"Well, I found something," he says it like he's leading up to something unpleasant.

"And?"

"It's a security job—"

"Big surprise there," I quip.

"Yeah, I know," he forces a laugh. He really doesn't like telling me this.

"What, Mike? Did you already take the job or something?"

"No," he says with a surprising amount of vehemence. "I won't go near it."

I stop what I'm doing and give him my full attention. Whatever is bothering him, it's serious.

"Tell me."

"It's for a company that's setting up a haunted house based on what happened at the restaurant. They really want one of the original guards to be there. Think it'll add something to the whole place."

Unbelievable! Who does stuff like this? How can something so horrible be viewed so callously as to be used for a horror attraction?

As angry as this makes me, I feel a familiar chill settle in my spine and I realize that something else is going on.

"Give me the information," I tell him.

He sighs over the phone. "I was afraid you'd say that. I almost didn't tell you but you went back to the restaurant right after you got out of the hospital so... It's called Fazbear's Fright. They're willing to pay to relocate you if you accept."

Of all things, name it after the place. Name it after the victims.

"I'll check it out," I tell him.

"Good luck," he says and hangs up.

Yeah, I'll check it out. I promised to protect those kids. Somehow, I don't think my job is done quite yet.

Good thing I pay my rent in three month increments.

The apartment they put me in isn't the best, certainly not compared to the one I left. I've only brought the minimum I need, not because the place is so small, but because I don't plan on being here long.

The inside of Fazbear Fright is dark and dingy with pieces of the restaurant incorporated everywhere. The same floor tiles, wall paper. I can't believe it! These people actually got the materials from the demolished building.

The security office is totally exposed with a huge glass front and no door. Fazbear posters are on the walls and there are two monitors. The phone rings and a guy that sounds like he's smoked one joint too many walks me through using the cameras and maintaining the camera, sound and ventilation systems with the other monitor.

"Oh, and you'll be excited to know that we found one!"

Found what? The chill in my spine spreads to my stomach.

"We actually found one of the animatronics! It was buried under a bunch of bricks at the back of the building and it looks rough, but that's great for what we need!"

The chill becomes a block of ice in my gut. He keeps talking but I don't hear a word. I flip through the cameras until I find him.

The yellow Bonnie suit is standing in the corner of the farthest room.

Suddenly, the head turns and stares into the camera.

He knows I'm here.

I spend the night mastering the systems, learning the layout of the place and planning out what I'll need to put an end to this.

He doesn't make it easy. Every chance he gets, he tries to charge the office and I have to lure him away. I wonder how long that will work and then I remember how our last meeting went. He can't be sure of what I'm actually capable of so he really has no way of knowing if my lures are just bait or if I'm really in the room. So, he _has_ to check every time.

The cameras keep going down and the ventilation is on the fritz. At first, I'm aggravated but then, I wonder if I can use this somehow.

Six o'clock comes and as I walk out, I find myself studying the walls and floors. This place a freaking tinderbox! One spark from the crappy wiring and it'll burn to the ground.

Or a spark from anything.

When I come back, I come a half hour early and when the cameras fail, I walk through the building with a bottle of water that actually holds gasoline and I drip it everywhere. I drop small wads of paper into the liquid, especially at spots where the raw wood is exposed and I can see wires. I drop lit cigarettes into these piles of paper to make sure everything goes up at once and he can't get out.

Not quite midnight, but I'm ready for him. I scan the cameras just enough to know when he starts coming after me. I don't lure him away this time. I step into the hall and wait for him. I have to admit, I wasn't really prepared to see him up close. The suit is ragged and I think I see something left of William in there. I know I see him in the thing's eyes, the way he's staring at me with pure hate.

Maybe the kids gravitated toward the certain animatronics because that's where their bodies actually were.

We stand there for a small eternity and I get the feeling he's sizing me up. Trying to determine if he could actually take me face to face, one on one.

The alarms go off and the emergency lights start flashing.

"We're done here, William," I tell him.

He steps toward me.

 _You're gonna run out of air, Matt._

He still sounds so smug.

"Ventilation is out, yes," I agree. "But so are the cameras."

I hold up the lighter in my hand and give it a flick. He cocks his head in confusion.

He's standing in a puddle of gasoline.

His confusion turns to horror when I pitch the lighter at his feet and flames explode upward and race along the floors and walls.

As I walk away from the building, the flames are leaping into the night sky. No questions will be asked. I wasn't even on duty yet.

I climb into my car and see the fire in my rearview mirror. Black surrounds my eyes and streaks my face like tears. Then, it fades.

I am the Puppet.

My business is finished…For now.


	12. The Bite of '87

A/N: Hey, guys! This is an...excerpt, if you will. I briefly reference The Bite of '87 in my fic The Puppet on the Wall and I decided to expound on that. After all, something so awful deserves to be more than a background reference. I don't own FNAF or anything about it. Let's get that fine print out of the way. That said, I hope you like it! Shout out to **someoneanonymous123**! I hope you enjoy this one too!

A/N: I decided to tack this on to the end of The Puppet on the Wall as well as have it on its own because some people might like it better that way and some because some people might want to read it separately. If you've already found it and read it, please let me know what you think. If this is your first time reading any of this, please let me know how you liked it :) Also, if it's better standing alone, let me know. Majority vote rules here

* * *

You know what sucks? Getting called into to work so often that you dream about the phone ringing.

Wait…no, that's actually the phone ringing.

I open my eyes and pick up the phone. "Ye-ehllo?"

"Jeremy?"

I flop my head over the back of the couch, clutching the phone to my chest so my boss can't hear my groan. God, I hate this guy!

"Yeah," I say.

"I need you to come in today until Mike gets here," he says.

Wow, big surprise. "Where's William?"

"He had to leave, something urgent came up," he says.

Again? If it's not his mother on her deathbed, I'm gonna kill him next time he comes in to work.

"Why not call Mike in early? He's working today anyways."

"He's already in overtime," he snaps.

Cheapscape.

"Fine, I'll be there," I tell him.

"Thanks," he hangs up.

I groan, then wail like a dying animal as my frustration builds.

"What's wrong?"

I bend my head back over the couch to look at my fiancé. She's laughing at me and trying to hide it. She was cutting vegetables at the kitchen island. I put the steaks into my special marinade and she made me take a nap. I worked a double shift yesterday, morning and afternoon, and I'm still wiped. I tried to help her cut onions but when I sliced my fingers instead, she sent me to the couch. Never knew that happened out of love and concern. Her parents are coming over this evening to make sure the house I just bought is up to standard for their princess to move into after we're married.

"I have to go to work," I tell her.

Her face falls. I hate seeing that expression, like she's about to cry. Especially when it's my fault.

"Why? We've planned this for two weeks, Jeremy!"

Oh, yeah. The crying's about to start.

"It's just for a couple of hours, I swear," I hurry to assure her. I get up and walk over to her. I wrap my arms around her waist and hold her close. "My boss is too cheap to call Mike in and pay him more overtime."

"Why can't he call Matt?" she asks plaintively.

"Because Matt'll tell him to screw off and he knows it," I tell her, propping my chin on her head. She has her hair up in one of those messy buns that's falling down the back of her head. She wouldn't be caught dead outside with the do, but I think it's adorable.

"Why didn't _you_?" she asks, looking at me over her shoulder.

"Because, even though I turned in my two-weeks' notice, I still need the job until then," I explain. "It's not like I said 'yes' because I like the place. When I move to the new job, the hours will be more stable and—" I kiss her ear and she shrugs me off, fighting a grin "—paid vacation days."

"But my parents aren't coming over when you start the new job," she says. "They're coming over today. You promised me that you would be here when they got here. You know how they are!"

"You mean they still don't like me," I tell her, taking the knife and finishing off the tomato slices she was trying to do so neatly. She frowns at me because she's trapped between me and counter and usually the next step is me tickling her ribs. "They'd rather you marry Dick."

She laughs, and snorts because she tries not to. That's actually the guy's name, but that's not how I meant it. Her parents couldn't believe she downgraded to a security guard that hangs out in the parking lot of the bank so he can walk her to her car after dark when she'd been with a lawyer that drove a Maserati and had a different woman in the passenger seat on any given evening. Go figure. I told her dad that, so I'm not the most popular guy in their circle.

"That's the first argument my dad ever lost," she says.

"Yep, and I still haven't gotten a trophy for that win," I tell her.

"Hope you're not holding your breath," she quips.

"Yeah, haven't you noticed how blue in the face I am?"

"You're trying to make me feel better about you leaving and it's not working," she says with a pout.

"It almost worked," I point out.

She sighs and blows her hair out of her face, where it falls again right after.

"Here, I'll fix it," I pull her out of the kitchen and into the living room. I have to say, the place is pretty posh. I can't afford a mansion like she grew up in yet, but that's a future plan. She sits in the floor and I sit on the couch and start working my fingers through her blonde hair so I can French braid it. The highlights create such a pretty contrast in the different strands. She could have modeled in New York. But then, I never would have met her there. When I finish, I massage her shoulders for a minute.

"You're almost forgiven," she tells me.

"It's only for a few hours, Isabelle," I promise her. "As soon as Mike comes in, I'm gone. I'll be back before the steaks even finish marinating."

She stands up with me and runs her fingers through my hair. The longer it gets, the lighter the brown turns and it's down to my ears because she likes it to be curly.

"At least, he won't be able to say you're too skinny this time," she grins.

"Yeah, there is that," I agree.

One of her dad's complaints about me was that I didn't have any 'substance'. I run for exercise. Runners don't get bulky. But I've been lifting weights because I intend to carry my bride over the threshold without breaking a sweat. I think I'm thirty pounds heavier than when he saw me last. Yeah, gripe about my size now, old man.

"Go, before you're late," she tells me.

I grab my uniform from my closet and kiss her goodbye. "You won't even have time to miss me."

I walk into the restaurant and have to do a fancy sidestep to avoid colliding with a bunch of kids running past the door. William left right in the middle of a birthday party? I'm already ticked off because I had to leave Isabelle, but that makes it worse. I walk to the boss' office and prop against the door. If I can go toe-to-toe with Isabelle's dad, I can go toe-to-toe with my boss for her.

"I can't stay past three," I tell him. "I have an appointment I have to keep."

He looks up at me in surprise. I think I actually startled him.

"I can call Mike in for that long," he says resentfully.

"Thanks," I say and walk to the security office. Only a week and a half and I'll never have to see this place again. I'm already hired at my new job—working for a private security firm—I'm just waiting the standard time. I have to admit though, I like the animatronics. Especially Foxy. He's my favorite. He's got more personality that the others.

About three o'clock, the place clears out and there is absolutely nobody in the building besides me, the cooks and the janitor. My boss might be here but I doubt it. I walk around the building to stretch my legs and I come to the back room that we're not really supposed to talk about. Building code issues or some crap like that. I step in and take a look around. The yellow Bonnie suit is in here. The boss better get the leaks fixed or he's gonna lose an expensive piece of equipment.

I step back outside and see Foxy watching me down the hallway.

"Hey, Foxy! How's it going?" I call to him.

Naturally, he doesn't respond. Suddenly, he hunches down like a football player. This is new. I didn't think they could move like that. I still don't think they're supposed to because it looks hard for him. Then, as the stance registers in my brain, he charges me.

Pure, raw terror takes over and my mind knows nothing outside of it. I take off in the other direction so fast that my shoes slide and squeak on the tile and I think I scream. Someone does. I can hear him coming, gaining on me. I think he takes two steps every time I take one. How do these things move that fast?! I slide around a corner and he slams into the wall trying to keep up. I don't stop. I'm prey and stopping means I die.

"Foxy, STOP!" I scream at him. I glance over my shoulder and I swear I see rage in those light up eyes.

I don't see the corner until it's almost too late and I slam my hands against the wall to bounce myself off it without losing much speed. Foxy slams into the wall again but he's closer this time, close enough that I can hear his servos whining. I can't breathe and I think my heart's going to explode. I can't get away from him! I dodge into one of the private dining halls and sprint through, jumping tables, trying to gain some distance. I don't look back to see if it worked but the sound of him gets a little fainter so it doesn't feel like he's breathing down my neck.

I suddenly see daylight. The main dining hall! I almost miss the door and I'm pretty sure I crack the frame when I hit it. I hear him coming. His footsteps are faint thunder in the empty hall and he's slowing down. He saw where I went and he's going to make sure he doesn't miss the door. The front door is right there! If I can just get there, I can get away from this animatronic that wants to kill me so badly!

I promised Isabelle I'd be home in time to help her finish dinner.

The room seems like it stretches out and the door keeps getting farther away from me. My legs feel so heavy and I feel like I'm moving so slowly, like I'm trying to run in chest deep water.

I'm almost there!

My foot lands in a puddle of spilled drink and for a moment, my momentum makes me airborne, then I crash to the floor face first. I scramble to get back up, my feet sliding on the slick floor and I can hear him coming up behind me. I choke back a sob as I get my feet under me and I take off again.

He slams into me before I take two steps.

I'm scrambling to get up again and there's ripping sensation in my right calf. My mouth opens but I don't have enough air to make a sound. I flip over and see his foot planted on my leg and my foot is turned at an odd angle to the rest of my leg. I don't even have time to react when he steps forward, grinding his foot into my shattered leg. I scream then.

He's gonna rip it off me!

He looms over me briefly and I have just enough time to look into those lit eyes and see nothing but pure hatred before he lunges forward and I'm enveloped in blackness as his mouth closes over my head.

I hear myself screaming as I feel my skull compressing under the pressure of his steel jaws and I'm hitting him, punching his fabric body with everything I've got. I feel a brief breeze press against my clothes. I thought I'd feel my skull cave in. I don't. But I hear it pop. The pressure vanishes. I don't hear anything else.

* * *

 _Mike, can you come in about three today?_

I scowl just thinking about that phone call. As glad as I am about the overtime, the boss isn't the best at paying us what we're owed. Jeremy's the lucky one. He's getting married and getting out of here. Matt was out and the crazy kid came back.

I'm wondering if the doctor should have prescribed him some anti-psychotics or something. You'd have to be friggin' insane to come back to this place. Especially if you died here. I can't get that out of my head. All I can think is, what if I'd been late to my shift? Would he have made it?

And where did William go again? I'm sick of him ducking out of his shift. He'd better have a close family member at death's door or something.

I walk through the door and horror freezes me to the floor. Foxy has Jeremy pinned to the floor and the animatronic has his head in his mouth. Jeremy's wailing on him, screaming bloody murder. Everything goes monochrome for me as I start moving. I'm pulling my Taser from my belt. Foxy's jaws close with a sound like a busted melon, blood and brain matter spray all over the animatronic and Jeremy goes limp. Foxy stands up, and I slam my Taser into his metal mouth. Blue electricity sparkles all over him and he drops like a rock.

I fall to my knees in the gore beside Jeremy. I press my fingers to his throat, checking desperately for a pulse that isn't there. Everyone comes running. I guess they heard him screaming. The three seconds that have passed since I walked in feel like hours. I start chest compressions. His uniform is soaked with blood. The smell invades my sinuses and takes me back to the night I found Matt bleeding out in the prize room.

"Jeremy!" I yell his name. "Stay with me, Jeremy! Stay with me!" I look up at the other people in the room. "Call 911!" I scream.

I'm frantic. Terrified. What happened?! I keep doing compressions, counting in my mind, absorbed in the rhythm. I look at Foxy, expecting to see him getting up.

"Get my Taser," I tell the cook. She stares at me like I'm not speaking English. "Get my friggin' Taser! If he moves, hit him with it!"

I'm sweating and I close my eyes. The scene replays on the back of my eyelids, every horrible detail, in slow motion.

I don't know how long it takes the ambulance to get there. When the paramedics come through the doors, they practically have to shove me away. They take over and get him on a gurney.

"You've gotta save him," I hear myself say. "You've gotta—he's gonna be married…you gotta save him." I'm babbling and I can't stop.

"We'll do everything we can," one of them tells me.

I've heard those words before. Nine times out of ten, it's because the person's already dead but they don't to tell you that.

I hear the boss talking about tampering, corrupted systems, standby mode, clean-up. I finally drag my eyes away from the ambulance speeding away and look at Foxy laying on the floor, blood soaking into his fabric body. Bits of skull and brain lay on the floor and the red splatter outlines the spot where Jeremy was.

First Matt, now Jeremy. But Matt was attacked by a person not an animatronic.

I look at Foxy again. His eyes are dead but somehow, he has a mournful look on his face, as though he regrets what he did. Maybe it's just trauma on my part, but I can't help but wonder…

Is this really the result of something as simple as tampering?


End file.
